


darling, lead the way

by rensshi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Persona Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rensshi/pseuds/rensshi
Summary: Here Junhui is, in the dark local mall, the state of his Chemistry project for finals a faint worry cloud floating over him. That worry cloud zaps away in an instance when he’s on the floor and he has Wonwoo’s head in his lap, patting his cheek while his delirious giggles fade away. They're just trying to keep the city safe, no big deal.





	darling, lead the way

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my beta S☆ for encouraging me to write this self-indulgent au. this is very much based off Persona 3 in the game series with a few things taken from 4 and 5. persona 3 was a significant part of my adolescence and i love persona in general so much so here it is, the wonhui fic no one asked for. 
> 
> warnings:  
> 1\. depictions of violence that aren't graphic, but they're there.  
> 2\. mentioned death, very minor.

When things start looking up, it’s a dreary Tuesday school night, and ironically, Junhui thinks he’s coming down with a goddamn cold in the beginning of winter. And it is _not_ a brush of a near-death experience. Not like how Vernon goes off about narrowly missing an angry fireball in their fights, or when the veins in his neck and hands turn a grotesque purple from poison, and he moans something along the lines of “holy shit, am I dying now?” Normally that’s not how someone would consider things to be looking up, but context is relative.

Still, there’s a searing amount of adrenaline crashing through his nerves, when Junhui listens to the words, icicles prickling through fear when it tells him to follow.

_Go back. You have to go back._

Junhui was hovering on this notion already the moment they’d left Jeon Wonwoo behind. Now he’s got that extra shove.

“We gotta head back.”

Minkyung twists her neck round to look at him funny. It’s quiet, save for the rumbling whispers round the corners; all they’ve run into on this floor are tiny Shadows, that they’ve flicked aside, as easy and tedious as swatting fat heavy flies. Mingyu gestures at nothing in particular, gripping the baseball bat tighter in one hand. “But Wonwoo said—” he starts at the same time Minkyung tentatively asks, “Jihoon?”

It’s the perfect time when Jihoon’s voice crackles into the thick air with “Jun’s right.” That’s about as calm as Jihoon can get without losing his cool on a regular training night in Tartarus. Junhui assumes Jihoon’s calculus quiz earlier did not go well. “Wonwoo isn’t answering, but Jun’s right,” he repeats flatly, carefully.

Something—Sirin, deflates inside his chest, a spark bursting in return and Junhui’s body suddenly feels so very light. It hasn’t felt that way in a while. So he turns on his heel, his Adidas trainers and Minkyung’s boots a deafening patter among the heavy pulsing walls of Tartarus and they run back, three floors down to where Wonwoo still is. Go on without them, the Shadows there are the usual Mayas he can clear out, his ass. The guy’s cornered by Eagles, bleeding on the forearm, a thin gash visible through his uniform shirt by the time they find him.

 

—————

 

Junhui is usually pretty good at heeding direction. He’ll ask all the why’s, the what’s and the how’s, and then the execution is near seamless, provided something else doesn’t throw in a monkey wrench in their game plan. But he’ll hesitate at inopportune times, and Junhui will feel a flash of irritation, Sirin bristling when they don’t work in tandem.

“Maybe you just need a heart-to-heart,” Jihoon says, kicking aside a football in the desolate field. The snow is still fresh, a thin layer on the ground. Why Jihoon is outside after school scoring goals with Mingyu (a terrible goalie), when Junhui still has sneezing fits from the cold, is beyond him.

Junhui wrinkles his nose, stuffs his hands further into his winter blazer pockets. “Does yours respond when you try to talk to him in your head?”

Jihoon glances at Junhui, the football shooting past him when Mingyu kicks it back. “More than yours does, I assume,” he replies unhelpfully.

“But you do that scanning thing,” Junhui whines. “You’ve obviously had lots of practice! Mental capacity and all that,” he says, clenching and unclenching his numb hands while Jihoon furrows his brow and mutters, “I don’t think it works that way.”

Jihoon’s gotten better at analyzing threats and predicting movements in their fights. It’s useful when Wonwoo has to join them in their midnight (past midnight? Semi-midnight?) excursions through the school floors when it turns into the hideous tower of a labyrinth called Tartarus (“Who named it _that?_ It sounds like gingivitis,” Minkyung commented dryly, her face unamused), and someone else has to act as outside support for their little posse. But Jihoon’s confidence had taken a dent the other night even when all Wonwoo got was a faint scar on his arm. Junhui bites back the whinging protest.

“Are you guys okay?” Mingyu calls from his stance at the goalpost, both hands on either side of his mouth.

Junhui grimaces with a thumbs up, which he jabs in Jihoon’s ribs when he calls back, “Junhui just wants my help in trying to figure out how to expand his mental capacity. And emotional depth. All’s good.”

Mingyu doesn’t laugh but fixes Jihoon a look of genuine confusion. He brightens. “Oh—you should ask Jeonghan for help with that. Aw man, it’s still so great of you to still try to help him in that alley, Jihoon. What a guy.” Mingyu shoots a toothy smile at Jihoon, whose right eye twitches.

Junhui does go to Jeonghan, at the end of the week. He catches him alone, reclined and almost ready to fall into a cat nap on one of the sofas he’s claimed his in the dorm’s lounge.

“Oh, Jun,” Jeonghan says, finally cracking an eye open to look at him. “My sweet, sweet Junhui.” Junhui’s shoulders sag before Jeonghan opens his mouth to say the infuriatingly trite words of advice that a shonen anime character receives when he’s trying to gain some godly power, if not to avoid putting the relationship with the other half of himself on more strain. “You’ll have to figure it out yourself. Personas grow alongside you, you know that.” Oh Junhui knows. Too bad this isn’t a video game and he can’t see how close he is to something that’ll earn him Growth.

“That’s...so nice,” Junhui says, fingers gripping the edge of his seat in mild exasperation. “How’s schooling Vernon been going?” He chooses his words carefully; the term “mentoring” makes Jeonghan nervous.

Jeonghan throws an arm over his eyes and sinks deeper into the sofa. “Lovely. Haven’t had a new one this weird since you moved in here.” Jeonghan cracks a lazy half-smile at how Junhui bites his lip. “You want practical advice? We go on doing what we can to avoid losing our limbs before we make it to graduation. Speaking of which, Wonwoo’s looking for you—says he owes you a big boy dinner for being his hero. You’re welcome!” He calls after Junhui when he springs up and runs back up to his room to check his phone that he’s left on charge.

New Messages: (2)  
_jeon wonu: didn’t catch u after class earlier. how was band practice?_  
_jeon wonu: was gonna ask. do u want beef bone soup? my treat_

So things with his persona, are a little weird. Not _rocky_ , just not ideal. But Junhui likes looking on the bright side. Put Jeon Wonwoo in context and things are definitely looking up.

 

—————

 

It’s common knowledge that Wonwoo can be real stubborn sometimes. Junhui catches on to this fairly quick just by looking at Wonwoo’s back at least fifty times in a week (They’re in the same class this school year, so Junhui can’t help it). Wonwoo will stick his hand in the freezer in the convenience store to dig for his favorite ice cream, even if his voice still sticks with phlegm after the worst of a cough has passed, much to Minghao’s chagrin. He’ll try to find faster ways to unlock skills in an RPG even when Jihoon tells him all the cheats he’ll ever need to know.

And when Jeonghan says Wonwoo owes Junhui a good dinner, he makes sure Junhui eats so much that he lags behind Wonwoo when they walk back to the dorm, shoes dragging up the steps to the foyer. Politely stubborn and charmingly so. Either way, Junhui is happy.

“I’m so full. I almost regret saying yes,” Junhui groans, a hand against the doorway and another across his stomach.

“Really?” Wonwoo says, alarmed.

“No, of course not. Beef bone soup is my absolute favorite.” Junhui amends, straightening himself.

“Good. Because this was my thank-you to what happened,” Wonwoo says, shifting his weight between legs. “Thanks for looking out.” A smile tugs at his mouth, and if Junhui hadn’t had so much of the soup, he would have felt the pleasant tickle in his gut. Instead, it’s the tingle of nature calling from the bathroom.

“Oh yeah, it’s no problem at all. Like, nothing,” Junhui replies, mirroring Wonwoo with a hand on the other door. Neither of them are putting any force against it. Is Junhui buying more time? _Yes_ , his mind thinks, even though his bladder will creak soon in protest.

“How d’you know to go back? I didn’t even call for Jihoon.” Wonwoo cocks his head, at least Junhui thinks he does, because his whole upper body and neck is swallowed by the high-neck jacket he’s wearing. It’s cute.

“Intuition. And my persona gave me a push. It happens,” Junhui says, not voicing out _‘apparently’._

“Intuition, huh.” Wonwoo bites his lip, turns his back on the door to scuff his sneakers on the porch ground. “How’s that like?”

“It’s a feeling.” That’s really the best way Junhui can describe it. “I’d come back for you all the time.” A moment of silence for Junhui’s brain-to-mouth filter, and a strange expression that passes over Wonwoo’s face before he masks it with the usual blankness. Junhui coughs. “You don’t follow your intuition, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo stuffs his hands in his pockets, sinking further into his cloud puff of a jacket than what was deemed possible. “I’m not really good at that. Anzu helps me scan movements because we learn, fast enough.”

“Of course you do.”

Wonwoo scoffs but he grins. “You should teach me how. Give some advice.”

Junhui snorts. “Maybe Vernon can help with that better. His spiritual prowess is unmatched, on another level. Not that it might have anything to do with spirituality, actually.”

Wonwoo blinks and grimaces. “He didn’t save my ass though. You don’t have to, if you can’t or don’t want to—” he says quickly. “But it’s useful, is all I’m saying.”

“If I can’t,” Junhui echoes. “If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Cool,” Wonwoo nods, his eyes brightening. He finally pushes open the door and almost pokes an eye out with his own glasses when he walks right into Mingyu, accompanied by Minghao.

“Headed out for food,” Minghao deadpans, though his eyes are alight with curiosity. Mingyu is silent, for once, like it’s taking him gigantic effort to not point at Wonwoo and Junhui with a childish _aha!_

“Hey, Junhui,” Wonwoo says, after they leave.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to think that I feel forever indebted to you or anything,” Wonwoo says, his mouth still pulled up into a soft smile. “I know you don’t like that,” he adds, more seriously.

“Right. Come on, we’re friends,” Junhui says, digging a heel into the stained carpet.

“Friends,” Wonwoo repeats. “So how come we don’t hang out more often?” He peers at Junhui.

“We do,” Junhui insists, tone incredulous.

“Like this, though?” Wonwoo gestures between them, and Junhui’s face grows hot.

“Well, you can text me when you’re bored. I got lots of free time.” It’s a lie. Junhui’s got music practice three times a week, and his shifts at Mingyu’s aunt’s restaurant now took up his Saturdays. Throw in training, schoolwork and being assigned to missions on full moons, and his life has never looked so damn fun.

Wonwoo smiles, the full one, with teeth showing and nose scrunching up as he chuckles. Junhui just stares—he has no clue know what Wonwoo finds funny anyway. “Great—because I get bored a lot,” Wonwoo says, mechanically shrugging off his jacket now that they’re indoors. A tiny part of Junhui internally swoons. “See you around, Junhui,” he grins, pats his arm lightly.

 

—————

 

During the Dark Hour, time doesn’t seem to move the right way. What lasts for only an hour, seems to drag on for a whole night, the darkness pulling over Junhui and the other students at the dorm.

When Sirin emerged some five months ago, Junhui had been caught outside on the way to his family home after a late movie night out, the street lights dimmed in a sickly eerie version of the world, devoid of people.

So there was that Shadow that tried to grab at him, and then an icy voice whispering _run_ —run fast, through the back alleys, away from home. The dumbest thing ever, but thanks to that, he found Yoon Jeonghan, a guy his senior from his school, slicing through a pool of the ugly things with a legit katana. A Shadow attacked Junhui and he remembered Jeonghan spinning around, the brief shared eye contact, before Junhui felt like he’d been plunged into liquid warmth, the pain across his lower back and the hard asphalt beneath numbed down for a second to his fingertips and toes. When he looked back behind him, something golden and beautiful, its robes floating and brilliant eyes flashing, fought back for him. Junhui knew, it fought back for him. And then, he passed out. Which was pretty standard, Jeonghan had told him in the hospital when he woke up.

After that, he moved into the dorm Jeonghan was living in, apparently for students with “gifted abilities” i.e. SEES, a nine-person team of high school kids who help keep the Shadows at bay from the city, while a top secret research firm spearheads all data and information about the Dark Hour and the Shadows.

And the rest is history.

Cue special mention of Wonwoo moving in a month after Junhui. Junhui couldn’t remember if his heart had sunk, or if he’d choked on it halfway up his throat when word got round in the dorm that Jeon Wonwoo from Class B was found hiding inside a convenience store during the Dark Hour, before his persona showed itself. Sometimes, when the fighting line rotates upon Nayoung or Jeonghan’s orders, Junhui could talk to Wonwoo and hold longer conversations. Unfortunately, that makes things seem a lot more complicated.

“Inconvenient? Maybe. But complicated? There’s no rule that says you can’t date your teammate,” Minghao says, his hands folded neatly on the wooden table next to the salt and chili oil while he calmly watches Mingyu and Junhui struggle with unrolling gift paper.

“Officially, no rule. But it’s like this thing we do is strictly business and some people have rules against dating your uh, colleagues,” Junhui says, pressing two sticky fingers together. Helping Mingyu’s aunt wrap the Kim family’s Christmas presents as early as the middle of November, was part of the job description apparently. She hated the rush of Christmas shoppers in December, Mingyu explained.

Minghao snorts. “Whatever. I just can’t with you two anymore. I mean”—he lowers his voice to a deep tone that doesn’t even remotely sound _close_ to Wonwoo’s register—“Vernon didn’t save my non-existent ass, you did, Jun. You’re so strong,” Minghao rasps as best as he can, in the stupid voice.

“ _Your_ ass is practically non-existent too.”

Minghao smile smugly, unfazed. “Maybe so. But you’d be the biggest fool to pass up on the chance to ‘teach’ him.” He air quotes. “Also, a bad teammate.”

Beside Junhui, Mingyu scowls, his big hands methodically and carefully smoothing down the folded paper. “Yeah, you gotta see things differently, man. Like what if he doesn’t think dating a teammate would be a problem? Thought you were optimistic.”

“I am. Just scared, is all,” Junhui admits.

Mingyu clicks his tongue in sympathy. “But you’ve liked him since…”

“Since _Hamlet,_ ” Junhui finishes, curling in on himself. The previous year, the entire ninth grade had been assigned Shakespeare productions by the theater and drama department. Junhui had been helping out with the music score. He’d been a frazzled mess when Wonwoo apologized over and over for accidentally using his badly printed copy of the music sheets he found on the ground as safety paper for catching paint drips. But really, it was only half the ruined music sheets, the other half due to Wonwoo’s mouth and how he shakes away his bangs that were too long then when they get into his eyes. To this day, Junhui still has the reprint of those sheets that Wonwoo himself passed to him out of guilt, kept safe in a clear folder (For the memories too, duh. It was a good play).

“Wasn’t he part of stage design? Yebin still kind of hates him for painting Ophelia’s lake sky blue,” Minghao snickers.

“Once upon a time, we all used to color in water light blue,” Junhui says, ruffled (he’s still pretty certain that had largely been Kwon Soonyoung’s fault).

“Yeah. In kindergarten,” Mingyu counters then laughs, his head thrown back like a villain. “God, you are bleeping _whipped._ ” Mingyu had slowly developed the habit of swearing only to get his ear yanked every time his sweet old aunt hears him. He’s sincerely trying to stop, which isn’t easy due to Jihoon’s speech pattern being sixty percent littered with cuss words when they’re in battle.

Junhui sniffs, flings aside extra paper under the table. “Yes, Mingyu. I am so fucking whipped,” he sighs, delicately enunciating his words after he’s made sure Mrs Kim is way back in the kitchen. Sure enough, Mingyu winces. Minghao just rolls his eyes.

 

—————

 

The real kicker here is that Wonwoo knows. At least, Junhui thinks he does and he’s about ninety five percent sure about it. Wonwoo himself is minutely observant. He thinks fast, learns fast, and has probably already caught the multiple times Junhui’s body has betrayed him. Especially when a tomato red blush tinges his cheeks, or when he clams up suddenly if Wonwoo grabs his wrist in an attempt to catch up while they’re training (“Hey Wonwoo, this is good exercise, isn’t it?” Junhui laughed, looking over his shoulder. Wonwoo huffed, despite being almost breathless. Junhui’s heart lurched more than a well-aimed Bufudyne spell from a Magus when Wonwoo, still holding Junhui by the wrist, retorted with, “Ha ha, mister red-belt-in-taekwondo. You can show off your stamina and carry me down bridal-style after we’re done here. Oh my God, why are my rotations scheduled this way? It’s Monday!” The bridal-style lifting didn’t happen. In a way, Junhui’s relieved).

So maybe, Wonwoo pieced the evidence together with the light snorts and giggling from Mingyu and on occasion, Jeonghan, when Wonwoo barks out things over their communication line in Tartarus. Things like, _wow_ _Junhui, ready for another round?_ Or _you’re doing so well, almost there, you can finish off,_ or _Jun, we can take this slower._ And then of course, Nayoung’s personal favorite before she had cured him from a nasty Cell Breaker: _Junhui, if you pass out on me, I’m going to head up there myself and carry you down this tower like you’re Princess fucking Peach._ Wonwoo’s bewildered every time she fondly jokes about it in her deadpan way, and his eyes shift apprehensively in Junhui’s direction. Junhui wanted to say that he should be touched—Nayoung hardly calls anything cute out loud, ever.

 _So how come we don’t hang out more often?_ Wonwoo’s voice echoes in his head.

Junhui’s read some of Jihoon’s X-Men and Teen Titans comics the past summer vacation. There’s always a point where the story arc stretches to a rising tension of putting heroes in a planet-shattering apocalyptic state, after the threat of Earth’s life being wiped out presents itself. If Junhui was supposed to live his life now like he and everyone else was going to die anytime soon, he’s doing a shit job at it.

He exhales a seething, “What the hell,” and pulls up a message thread on his phone.

 _To: jeon wonu_  
_Me: are you bored r ight now? :)_

 _jeon wonu:_  
_i’m suffering in homework. i hate remedial trigo._  
_but yes i’m bored out of my mind_

 _To: jeon wonu_  
_Me: oh man, dude :0 i thought you were good at trigo?_  
_Me: actually that was code for are you bored AND free right now, but it’s okay, trigo got you_

 _jeon wonu:_  
_no wtf, i suck at trigo. yes i’m bored and YES i can so be free now. let’s go out?_

Junhui puts down his phone face up on his desk, staring at it with his palms flat on his knees as he jiggles one leg for a full two minutes. Then he picks it up and types out the reply he’s already screamed in his head before he decided against seeming too eager.

 _To: jeon wonu_  
_Me: suuuure ^^_  
_Me: aren’t you like...here in the dorm?_

Basically four doors down the hall from where Junhui is.

 _jeon wonu:_  
_haha yeah i’m holed up in my room. just give me a sec_  
_if i don’t respond in 10 mins, i’m giving u permission to come in and get me._  
_sorry i’m always misplacing my glasses_

 

—————

 

“I shouldn’t bet on this stuff, even if all I lose is my pride. I have shitty luck when it comes to betting, _always,_ ” Wonwoo’s complaining, although he shoots a sideways look at Junhui, and smiles.

“Or, maybe I’m just better than you at air hockey,” Junhui says, before he sips too fast and a pearl lodges itself in his throat. Wonwoo pats his back while he coughs it down and proceeds to keep drinking his milk tea.

“What time is it?” Wonwoo asks, bringing out his phone from his jeans pocket. “It’s only four,” he answers himself. They’ve killed two hours at the arcade house, in Wonwoo’s vain to win a bet—winner gets milk tea—on who can more games against the other. It was a close shot, which made him grind his teeth but Wonwoo told Junhui not to hold back when picking his milk tea flavor and its sinkers.

Their shoulders brush against each other lightly. It occurs to Junhui, that outside the floors of Tartarus where physical contact is almost unavoidable as they train, he doesn’t know if he should put some distance between them as they walk. They pass by the movie house on the main street, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks.

“Oh Jun, what about a movie?” He asks.

Junhui scans over the Now Showing titles. “I saw _Extinct_ last weekend. It was alright.”

“Do you want to watch anything else?” Wonwoo’s eyes widen at the big board and posters ahead. “I don’t think I brought enough money.”

“Neither did I,” Junhui laughs. They’d grabbed the necessities when they left the dorm, without a thought for anything else other than whether or not Junhui can square Wonwoo up as Chun-Li. “Are you always this impulsive?”

Wonwoo scratches his neck, blinks. His fingers curl into little loose fists underneath the huge sunny yellow parka he’s wearing today. “No, actually. I just don’t want to go back yet,” he says, sheepish.

“I’ve got a mountain of History homework I have to face too,” Junhui laments, slapping a palm lightly against his forehead.

Wonwoo lets out a huff of laughter, white fog curling in wisps around his mouth. “Oh, yeah, there’s homework. But this is fun. Hanging out with you is nice,” he says, looking down at his feet as they walk, the stark white tips of his new trainers blending into the ground when they step onto snow on the sidewalk.

Junhui all but elbow nudges him, milk tea sloshing in its cup, and says with all the coyness of a suitor to an English queen, “If I’d known you’d be this sweet, we would have started hanging out a lot sooner.”

Wonwoo stiffens. He mumbles, “I think you’re the sweet one here.”

 

—————

 

Nayoung had been the first among them. Artemis burst out and saved her, before the Shadow pierced her throat. She’d only been fifteen then.  

Jeonghan wasn’t able to summon his persona at will until after the second death anniversary of his best friend a year ago—he’d been a student that transferred from America. Him and Jeonghan had been almost inseparable, and it said a lot about Jeonghan’s state of mind then when his persona came to him, its feathers smoothed down and wings cradled around his shaken form on the ground that night. Junhui didn’t know personas could sort of cry for their bearers.

He hadn’t been there to witness any of these things, but like most of them, he’d wondered about what would happen if it hadn’t been the right time. His conscious mind would have been eaten away until he was an empty, breathing shell. Any one of them could have been.

This is what he thinks on the night of their next full moon, when he sees Mingyu dragging a smaller body aside, stumbling over a crack in the pavement in front of the abandoned warehouse. Minghao’s slighter form is beside him, still holding his axe. The motorbike screeches to a halt and Minkyung swears, body turning frigid as she removes her helmet.

Junhui hops off the bike, his bow case hitting his shoulder blades as he sprints toward them.

“She—she was already— when we got here,” Mingyu says, his eyes unfocused and his hands shaking under the girl’s waist, the ruffles of her chiffon dress quivering in the winter draft. The twelve-year-old girl who had gone missing a few days ago. The picture they’d used to broadcast her disappearance on the news showed her eye-smile under her bangs, one dimple visible.

“Where is it?” Junhui asks, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he looks at her eyes—they’re blank, the irises so thin they’re barely there. Her mouth opens and closes silently, her lips a pale purple. Feels like he can never quite get used to seeing them up close.

“Still here somewhere,” Minghao grits, his eyes darting around.

Wonwoo cries over the tinny earpiece, “Minkyung, move—”

There’s a heavy grunt, crunching against snow and gravel. In Junhui’s periphery, Minkyung scrambles out of the way with a screech, when a force launches her bike into the air and hurls it a good twenty feet past where she was standing before. Where there should be a creature, a large pair of hooves form itself on the snow, tracking its path.

“Minotaur-types can turn invisible?” Junhui says, his voice cracking.

“Right? Shit’s unfair,” Minghao grinds out, his teeth gritted, and Minkyung screams an angry, “Did it just wreck my bike?”

“Not unfair—it doesn’t last long if you go with wind attacks,” Wonwoo says.

“Oh. _Wonderful_.” The air ripples around Minghao, and there’s already an eerie howling and fragments of light, a prism bright against the night sky. His persona appears and Minghao sends it forward. It’s almost too easy; Caishen casts a wind spell, with enough impact to force the Shadow’s cloak to fizzle out and reveal itself. Its eyes are red, bulging out of its skull maniacally.

“It gets panicked easily,” Wonwoo tells them. “So go ahead and knock yourselves out—I mean _it_ out,” he trails off weakly, drowned out by the rush of air in Junhui’s ears and his pounding pulse when he summons Sirin. The Shadow takes a hard hit to its torso when his persona rushes in with a wretched cry. The thing goes down snarling, ugly nostrils flared and the dance starts, with Mingyu and Minkyung’s personas called upon at the ready.

They instantly work out a system, with Minghao taking the lead. Eventually, it’s whittled down and bleeding out black liquid where Minkyung has slashed through the tough skin. Finally, it disintegrates with a pathetic cry.

“What was that—fifteen? Twenty minutes, tops?” Mingyu says, breathing hard but not panting from the adrenaline high. It barely even put up a fight for it to be a good one.

“It’s like my bike getting decked wasn’t even worth that!”— Minkyung cries, wringing her hands —”or, even…” She eyes the girl’s immobile body nervously. Junhui glances at her, eyes moving under closed lids as if she’s just asleep and dreaming.

It didn’t even put up a fight.

The skin at the back of Junhui’s neck turns cold and on instinct, he moves slowly, lowering his bow case over his shoulder. “Hey, Wonwoo,” he says carefully, squatting down to click open the case. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“What are you _doing?_ ” Minghao asks, alarmed.

“Too easy,” Minkyung supplies. She gives Junhui a look before her sharp eyes sweep over the area, looking for something, anything that seems off.

There’s a crackle on the communication line, a sharp gust of air where Wonwoo’s either swallowing down his words, or just, breathing funny. “The girl,” he gasps. “Holy fuck.”

When her eyes fly open, it’s pure black and in the sweet holy name of Jesus (he doesn’t even pray to Jesus), Junhui is certain he’s never watching another horror movie with a possession storyline anytime soon after this. The Shadow moves beneath her and leaks itself out of her body, the veins bulging, taut under what used to be rosy skin. Blood trickles down her nose and mouth, the red and black mixture staining her white dress. The image is so horrid that Junhui feels dizzy. Beside him, Minkyung covers a choking noise with a hand over her mouth, her eyes wet and shining with fear.

“Guys!” Wonwoo nearly yells, but Junhui can hardly hear him. The girl opens her mouth and screams. Dark smoke unfurls from her hands and Mingyu whimpers. The smoke travels fast and Junhui balks at the strange tugging movement anchoring him to the spot. Sirin curls behind him, his stance timid. Junhui raises a hand anyway.

“Jun—” Minghao yells. “Wait—”

Can’t counter this, he knows—Sirin doesn’t quite know how to yet. A cool sensation sweeps over his head, to his legs, and Mingyu’s defense spell he cast on Junhui only eggs him on further to just, try. _Please,_ he begs, and the other half of him stirs violently.

Warmth like liquid sunshine pours over him, and for a long second, he can’t feel the ground beneath him. Sirin zips forward, blinding and brilliant, and Minkyung cries out something unintelligible.

It’s too many things at once that sears through his head—the Shadow’s scream, too human to stomach, but too twisted to feel anything for, Wonwoo shrieking out something on the line. And Junhui’s own pulse, accompanied by the crackling burn of fire in his chest.

The last thing he does feel, is his legs giving out.

 

—————

 

Junhui thinks ‘Sirin’ was named after his grandmother’s plump calico cat. Her name was lovingly written as Selene in English. When Junhui visited his grandmother in China during his summer breaks, Selene would be on top of their old rosewood piano, sleeping where the afternoon sun spilled through the house and lit up the pale pink of her tiny nose as she laid there, while his grandmother listened to him play. Sometimes she’d sing, her voice warbly with old age but Junhui liked it either way. His grandmother passed when he was nine, and a stray calico was at the porch of their family house a few days after the funeral.

“Is that—?” Junhui asked, unsure.

“Your grandma? She could be,” his father had said.

He meant Selene the cat, even though she’d died too, long before his grandmother. He’d managed not to cry during the funeral but his mother stroked his hair, whispered, “oh, Junhui” when she saw him with the stray cradled on his lap, his face wet with fresh tear tracks.

His persona isn’t feline-looking, but it’s just funny, when he thinks about Sirin’s wistful eyes, and the waxing crescent placed atop its regal human head.

 _You can hang the moon among the stars yourself, Junhui. Sometimes people don’t stop to look at them. But the ones that do, will remember you,_ his grandmother had said.

Now he’s seventeen, and he doesn’t think he can ‘hang the moon’ or whatever. But it’s a near thing to believe in it, when Sirin moves menacingly with him, their thoughts parallel, and Sirin smiles so beautiful and fierce as they fight. _Faith_ , Jeonghan had said once, about the kind of high crashing through the body in waves when you summon your persona. _Adrenaline’s one thing, but it’s faith that makes us fight._

 

—————

 

Junhui wakes up to the staccato of the radio news turned down low. Someone had switched it on in his room. The immediate suspect turns out to be Jeonghan, his blond dye job prominent in the dim room sitting in the chair by his desk, a hand on his chin while he’s fixated on something on the iPad in his lap. When Junhui tries to speak, he looks up, pulls out his earphones.

“Good morning,” he drawls, but it’s soft, like he’s trying not to startle Junhui. He rolls the chair forward until he’s beside Junhui. “It’s the afternoon, at three, specifically. Don’t—” Jeonghan taps a finger against Junhui’s pillow. “Try to think so hard,” he says, one corner of his mouth pulled up. Junhui feels heavy everywhere, as if he’s napped way too long that’s on the verge of disorienting, and his legs ache. He’s also stripped down to his thin undershirt he usually wears under his uniform and a pair of thick sweatpants beneath the duvet.

“The Shadow’s gone. You cast a pretty good light spell on it last night,” Jeonghan explains. “Good job, Jun. Almost crazy, but you did good,” he says softly, a full grin breaking through now.

“It worked?” Junhui flinches at how hoarse his voice is. He stretches out his arm for that glass of water now.

Jeonghan laughs, handing it to him. “I know. Everyone thought that too, you lucky bastard.” Strong light spells carried the chance of instant death. Whenever Junhui had tried to cast it in Tartarus, the success rate of it had been a thirty against seventy ratio. Junhui blinks, thinking to himself that it must have taken a lot out of his persona if it had worked on a strong Shadow. “It was a good thing too, with the way you guys were nearly crying over the line,” Jeonghan’s saying.

“Shut up, no one was crying,” Junhui sighs, but a smile tugs at his mouth.

“Nayoung and I wanted to step in as backup. Poor Wonwoo was almost losing his damn mind in the standby van.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. He pats Junhui’s leg, looks mildly alarmed at the empty glass Junhui sets down after mere seconds.  “Come on, let’s get you up. And get you some food.”

 

—————

 

Junhui is about to start inhaling down his food, alone after Minkyung insists to a distraught Mingyu and Minghao that they not crowd him, when Wonwoo pokes his head through the kitchen doorway. He brings up a knuckle to nudge up his glasses better as he shuffles forward.

“Do you really want to be alone?” Wonwoo asks, looking between the steaming bowl of stew in front of Junhui and where his lips are puckered in an ‘o’ to blow gently on the spoon.

Junhui lowers his spoon, decides to answer with, “Do you want to share? It’s a huge bowl.” It kind of is, but Wonwoo still scoffs in response, raising a hand to try to hide it.

“How do you feel?” He asks, approaches the island counter.

“Starving,” Junhui replies easily, after he swallows a spoonful of rice and broth.

“Then, no thanks, I’m good.” Wonwoo slides into the seat diagonally across from where Junhui is. There’s a moment of pregnant silence between them, where they break eye contact. Faint music from Minghao’s speakers in the lounge float through.

“They still can’t believe you did it,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“Didn’t think I had a choice.”

“I know. I’m glad you did, even though I was uh, yelling at you to be careful.” Wonwoo tips forward onto the seat nervously, one hand clenching the edge of the countertop to steady himself.

“It’s alright, I could barely hear you over the scream of death,” Junhui says, without thinking, as he fishes for the juicier bits of the beef in the broth.

Wonwoo doesn’t smile, looks down at nothing on the countertop, and the guilt simmers in Junhui’s belly. “Sorry, bad joke,” Junhui says, raising one hand timidly.

“Yeah, dude. I was losing my mind back there, jeez.” Wonwoo chuckles, an empty hollow sound at the same time Junhui mumbles, “So I’ve heard.”

They sit in near silence again with Junhui taking the moment to loudly slurp down the remains of his stew. He puts down his bowl. “Do you ever think about whether or not you’re living every day like you’re dying?” He finally asks.

Wonwoo nods, his face pulled into a smoothly blank expression, save for his eyes. He stares intently at Junhui, and it makes him even more aware of his clammy hands. He places them on his lap, where Wonwoo can’t see them fidget under the countertop.

“Would you—” Junhui begins slowly.

The _Boku no Hero Academia_ opening song plays on Junhui’s phone, vibrating, and Wonwoo jolts in his seat. Junhui rubs his knees from where they’ve hit the surface under the island counter and checks the caller ID. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it in to stop himself from dry sobbing.

“Shit, sorry Wonwoo I gotta take this,” Junhui mutters apologetically and brings his phone to his ear. “Hi mom. I’m okay now, I slept off the uh, fever.” He looks up to see Wonwoo curl his index finger and thumb into an a-okay sign.

Junhui can try to keep the conversation quick, and call his mom back later. But Wonwoo’s already hopping off the stool, his socked feet a silent thud on the floor. He goes round to where Junhui is widening his eyes in question at Wonwoo digging around for something in his pants pocket. He tacks down a single 500-won coin, worn for wear over the years, and waits for Junhui to finish, who’s already ending the call with a perky, “Yes mom I’ll keep track of my sugar count for you, thanks, you too, bye!”

“It’s my lucky coin. Or at least it was,” Wonwoo explains, tapping it lightly with a finger.

“You. You believe in those?” Junhui is honestly too surprised to worry about being tactless.

“Yeah I know. I just like to believe in it, I guess, I don’t know why really,” Wonwoo says, a whine behind the stubborn tone and a dark red color starting to tint his cheeks. “It’s usually just there as a sentiment. I haven’t thought about it up until now but, I was really thinking about using it—throwing it on the wishing fountain at the mall,” he says in a rush, his whole face red now.

“Okay, I get that,” Junhui says slowly, peering at the coin. “So..?”

“I wanted to give it to you.”

“For real?” It looks like it took Wonwoo a great deal to say that, so Junhui doesn’t know if he should take it.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe intuition and your persona will always have your back or something, and you’ve got us,” Wonwoo says. “But just—anything to—to help you out.” He backs away, lets Junhui study it.

“Okay, Wonwoo. If it makes you happy.” Wonwoo’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at that and Junhui thinks he’ll probably take anything Wonwoo will give.

“So, the wish fountain in the mall,” Junhui calls as Wonwoo quickly strides to the doorway “What would you wish for?”

Wonwoo laughs, a little too loudly before he looks away. “That’s a secret. Sorry!”

He’s out the kitchen after Junhui blinks, the old silver coin warm in Junhui’s closed fist.

 

—————

 

Junhui gets his answer, two weeks later, when they’re in the middle of a scout mission. Jeonghan gets his hand on intel fed from the one police officer in contact with the research firm and SEES. Officer Choi’s piece of information helps them link together leads on who might go missing next.

So here Junhui is, in the dark local mall, the state of his Chemistry project for finals a faint worry cloud floating over him (no thanks to his partner, captain of the basketball team and Wonwoo’s close friend, Kwon Soonyoung, giving Junhui coy looks whenever he mentions Wonwoo's name in favor of taking down observation notes. It started with, “Hey man, I won’t say that I know what Wonwoo’s been up to when he started turning down game invites at night to _study_ ”— air quotes and a sneer—“more often, ever since he moved into your dorm. But come on, you don’t have to be shy, Junhui—your grades are great, if you know what I mean,” Soonyoung teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Junhui when he goes into a coughing fit).

That worry cloud zaps away in an instance when he’s on the floor and he has Wonwoo’s head in his lap, patting his cheek while his delirious giggles fade away. Junhui’s waiting for the cure of a charm spell casted on Wonwoo to do its work. The rogue Shadow this time is thankfully putting up an okay fight by the looks of it from their shelter, the wish fountain of the mall partially shielding them both from the ongoing battle.

“Let it out, that’s right,” Junhui says frantically, patting Wonwoo’s chest as he exhales out a final shaky laugh in Junhui’s arms. Wonwoo only clutches Junhui harder by the forearm when a small chunk of the bannister for the second floor falls onto the ground floor, near the fountain, the impact startling them both.

“WHAT THE FUCK I SAID A _CLEAN_  JOB, AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE!” Jeonghan’s voice cries out somewhere above them.

There’s a flash of electricity, the singing crackle of it travels through the air, making their skin crawl. The Shadow tips over the freshly made gap in the bannister and crashes to the ground on its slimy back, its tentacles flailing.

Jihoon’s persona soars down, and aims another bolt of electricity, shocking it again. “Got it!” Jihoon shouts, practically sliding down the escalator handrails on his butt, Jeonghan running down after him on the steps.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo breathes, wipes his brow. ”He’s got it.”

“Hey, between me and the Shadow, tell me which of us you’d take a hit for, or kiss,” Junhui grins, jostling Wonwoo’s head gently. He brings up a hand to touch Wonwoo’s chin and neck unthinkingly.

Wonwoo’s eyes bug out. Junhui squints in concern and checks his pupils again for any abnormal dilation when Wonwoo wails, “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? I’d kiss _you_ any day, you idiot—” he stops talking suddenly, and Junhui tries to gulp down a lump in his throat.

“Did I get charmed?” Wonwoo asks weakly. “Wait, who’d I hit?” He sits upright, nearly hitting foreheads with Junhui while at it.

“No one! You missed when you tried to sucker punch Jihoon,” Junhui assures while Wonwoo looks at the high ceiling above and closes his eyes, listens to the Shadow whimpering as Jeonghan’s persona pierces its core repeatedly. Then he takes out a copper 10-won from his back pocket, and tosses it into the fountain in front of them. The water ripples violently as the Shadow’s tentacles blindly hits the ground, trying to swat the others in vain, as they deliver blow by blow.

“Was that another lucky coin?” Junhui sputters, glancing at the scene far ahead of them when Minghao stops hitting to call out, _Wonwoo looks like he got cured_ real _good, we’re alright, by the way, thanks for asking, fuckers_ and goes back to the task at hand.

“Nope, just spare change I have no use for,” Wonwoo says. He looks Junhui dead straight in the eye, and he may as well just shoot him straight through the heart too, when he takes a deep breath to announce, “I’d kiss you any day even if a goddamn Shadow isn’t the other option.”

“Wow, okay,” Junhui tries to say normally, but squeaks out instead. He clears his throat. “Really? Now?”

“Live life like you’re dying, Junhui, isn’t that right?” Wonwoo tries to laugh, but winces at Jihoon’s triumphant whoop and the Shadow’s winded groan in the background. “Yup, they got it,” Wonwoo mutters.

Junhui leans forward, holds the front of Wonwoo’s blazer and brings his face up so close that he can hear Wonwoo’s sharp gasp over the fading squelching sound of the Shadow’s flesh and someone, presumably Jihoon, exclaiming _Whoa whoa whoa what is going on_?

“Good. I like you a lot,” Junhui says, clear and sure, and even surer when he stills against Wonwoo’s chapped, warm lips, presses back against him, a thumb to his cheek. His chest swells, and it’s a low fire spreading within him, gentle and sweet, like warm honey compared to the burning flames ignited when he fights. The kiss lasts long enough for Junhui to need air, and when he moves back, Wonwoo’s looking at him like he hung the moon or something. Junhui laughs.

There’s clapping in chorus, and they both whip their heads round to look at Jeonghan and Jihoon applauding them, Minghao wiping a fake tear of joy from his eye, and the Shadow gone except for the remains of its slime trails.

“Who charmed who, really?” Jeonghan says, and Junhui’s too giddy to feel any appropriate amount of embarrassment.

“This is rich. And so am I—Mingyu owes me money now,” Minghao gets out, in between fits of laughter.

When Jeonghan announces the party’s over and they start to leave, after giving Officer Choi a heads up about the damage fees to the bannister the firm will cover, Junhui tugs at Wonwoo’s sleeve so they hang behind the others by a short distance.

“You’re still not gonna tell me what you wished for?” He asks, nudging Wonwoo’s arm.

Wonwoo snorts. “Fine. Wished you’d say yes when I ask you out on a date.”

Junhui gives him a look of disbelief. “You needed a wish for that? I mean, I wanted to ask you out, spur of the moment then. On the day you gave me your lucky coin,” he tells Wonwoo.

“I kinda knew.”

“… _How?_ ”

Wonwoo beams, his nose scrunched up and his eyes shining. “Intuition? Just had a feeling.”

“Right, intuition.” Junhui takes his hand, their fingers entwined. His palm is smooth against Junhui’s rougher one. “You don’t need my help with that at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> title taken from [Free Room](https://open.spotify.com/album/57X0V74PxWKM2fuyf283tE) by Ravyn Lenae ft. Appleby


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